The old and weary covered bridge
That spans the swollen stream
Is what I picture in my mind
At the start of my favorite dream


You can tell the bridge was stately
When it was young and new
But the years have been unkind to it
As its' age just grew and grew



The stories that this bridge could tell
Are numerous and happy and sad
Each could fill a book or two
With the experiences it has had


The stream at times has a gentle flow
At times it's swift and fast
Always being an integral part
Of the covered bridge and its' past


The area's nestled in a grove of trees
A place for picnics and fun
A place for Mom and Dad to rest
And a place for children to run



The bridges' ultimate time of the year
Is the fall, when summer's done
When God gets out his paint brush
And pastels in the warmth of the sun


Each time I close my eyes to sleep
I hope for my favorite dream
The dream where I see the covered bridge
That spans that swollen stream

©Mr. Doug
Website

Ecclesiastes 3
To every thing there is a season, and
a time to every purpose under the heaven